


He Will Not Come

by loveofmylonglife



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveofmylonglife/pseuds/loveofmylonglife
Summary: Elizabeth faints at Verity's arrival, thinking Ross has come to see her. This thought stays with her as she wakes. Set in 2x09.





	

“My dear, I came as soon as I heard you’d postponed your wedding!”  
Everything went black all of a sudden. The next thing she knew, she was tucked in her bed comfortably with a fire raging next to her. Her eyes were bleary as they opened and she was able to locate herself just, she knew she was in her own bedroom. Her head felt heavy, though and she tried to hold it up unsuccessfully. It fell back on the pillow heavily and she sighed, her eyes half closing. She didn’t know what time it was. Perhaps it was night, the curtains were drawn. She turned her head slowly towards the window and tried to open her eyes again but scrunched them shut almost immediately as she felt a wave of nausea pass over her. The unsettling feeling began in the pit of her stomach and rushed up to her throat. She grasped the blanket hard as if to throw it aside, ready to muster all the energy she had to throw up the meagre contents of her stomach but the urge never came. Now it was her head, suddenly pounding away into the corners of her skull. She wondered for a moment whether the pain had started now or whether it had always been there and it was the first time she’d noticed it. The throbbing made her flinch and she curled in on herself, closing her eyes against the warm candlelight and opening them again. There was no one else in the room and it seemed different somehow. The air was heavier, muskier, warmer than ever before. These days her bedroom seemed cold and stark but it was different now.   
“You’re hot, Elizabeth. Drink.”  
She froze then, staring straight ahead. She recognised the low, deep voice but could feel no dipping of the bed to her left where the voice came from. Her blood seemed to seize up in her veins as she gripped the blanket harder, daring to turn her gaze to her side. And sure enough, there sat Ross, perched on the edge of the bed as if he’d been there all along. He was dressed oddly, not in his jacket and waistcoat and neck cloth, but simply his breeches and a worn, billowing white shirt barely tucked in. His braces hung down by his thighs, his hair slightly messed as she ran her eyes up his chest and to his face. His eyes were soft and kind, glassy and warm as he held out a glass to her.  
“Drink.”  
Her hands began to tremble slightly against the blanket. She could barely believe the sight in front of her, she didn’t want to believe it. Ross, here in Trenwith. Not just in Trenwith, but here, in her bedroom, with her. There wasn’t a stern look or word in sight from him, just softness and warmth. She was scared to take her eyes away from him, as if he would disappear any moment. He sighed at her silence and got up, walking around the bed slowly. His boots made soft patting sounds on the floor as he made his way over to her side of the bed, sitting down and holding the glass to her lips with furrowed brows. He nodded and she pressed her hot lips against the cool glass, swallowing as much as she could. She hadn’t realised how dry her mouth was, flicking her tongue out to lick her lips as she watched him set the glass down by the bedside. The blankets were too heavy and her body too weak to reach out and touch him, to even open her mouth and speak to him.   
She didn’t know what she would say even if she could. Aunt Agatha’s words ran through her mind. With resolve, girl. Dictate your terms. You have more to lose. She watched Ross grasp a rod from the side of the mantelpiece and poke at the logs in the fireplace, tilting them until a louder crackling was heard. She opened her mouth to say something, to explain her circumstances and ask what he could possibly give her, why she shouldn’t marry George, why he’d dared to burst into Trenwith and take what wasn’t his.  
“You came.”  
Her voice broke slightly and died, like a guttering candle. None of what she’d planned had come out and in her heart, she hadn’t expected it to either. Words never seemed to come as freely to her when Ross was around. He turned from the fireplace at her voice, smiling a little and setting the rod in its holder. He strode over, sitting back down and taking her hand slowly. His hand was hot, warmed by the fire as it curled around hers, intertwining in the same way they had not many nights ago on this very bed.  
“Of course I came. I would not make the same mistake again.”  
She looked up from their joined hands and searched his face, his warm eyes, the soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. The neck of his shirt was tossed open to reveal the light dusting of hair on his chest. It had felt so good against her cheek. The very feeling of his chest rising and falling with each breath was enough to make her feel even more lightheaded and she squeezed his hand in warning until his voice pulled her back.  
“Did you wait for me, my love? Did you wait long?”  
She furrowed her brows, her eyes instantly burning up at the concern in his voice. She didn’t know how to tell him about her pacing in front of the gates, her constant looks and gazes, the hours she’d spent, how she’d sometimes hallucinated that she could hear the harsh crunch of gravel and the quick patter of his boots to her front door.   
“So long,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as tears finally made their way down her cheeks, “so long, I waited for you so long, Ross. Why did you take so long?”  
“I know,” he murmured, reaching out to carefully brush her cheeks, “I know I made you wait. But I’m glad you did. For I won’t forsake you again, not like I did last time. You have no need to cry, Elizabeth.”  
“Night and day for hours and hours just to hear the sound of your horse, the sight of you on the hill….”  
He set his jaw in a firm line, brushing away the tears and cupping her face tenderly. Still, she sniffed childishly at the softness in his voice, the sweet way his fingers brushed across her cheeks. He squeezed her hands softly and waited for her tears to stop. The silence between them was comfortable and Elizabeth looked at him cautiously, barely able to believe he was here.  
“Now that you….you came….will you stay?”  
Ross looked up from their intertwined fingers, staring at Elizabeth as if she were stupid.  
“Of course I shall stay. Where else would I be if not with you?”  
He smiled at her and got up, walking to the fire and crouching down by it again. Elizabeth observed him. Stunned was an understatement. He seemed too relaxed, too easy as he crouched down, bracing his elbows on his knees as he poked the fire again. She didn’t want to ask what he’d left behind, it was too much for her to process. His shoulders were loose as he stood up and strode over to the bed again, sitting down next to her again. He looked at her expectantly and she looked back.  
“Why did you come?”  
“Should I not have come?” he asked quizzically, cocking an eyebrow at her. She stared at him. Was he playing devil’s advocate for fun?  
“No, of course you should have come, but….why?”  
“I made you wait last time,” he said matter-of-factly, “you waited and I did not come. I will not make the same mistake again.”  
The stoicism in his voice made her breath catch and she watched him look down at their joined hands, rubbing the back of her hand softly with his thumb. The small movement made her shiver and her mouth opened but no words came. How easy it was for him to say that she had waited before and he hadn’t come. Did he even understand the cost of that waiting, of his no-show? A soft, almost dreamy smile played across his face as he looked at her and for some reason, rage began to bubble up inside her like lava, making her skin flush and her hands tighten on the coverlet. He was sitting there, so calm, so peaceful, so….happy. When life for her since that first wait had been hell on earth. The only saviour had been her beautiful son and he was only too aware of what she had been about to do for his sake. Francis had treated her so awfully, cruelly sometimes and his death had torn her up, thrown her into a chaos so deep that no matter how hard she kicked her legs and flailed her arms, she couldn’t find a hand to pull her out. And when a hand came at last, it was the wrong one. But it was the only one and she had to grasp it, didn’t he understand that? Would he rather she’d have drowned? He sat there, quiet, contemplative while her whole life unfolded behind her eyes, at the back of her head, all the things she’d suffered since he’d let Francis take his place in that garden. When her mouth opened, lava poured out unchecked.  
“Why? Why did you not come last time? Why? Why did you not come?!”   
Her voice broke and cracked like magma cooling at contact with air. She stared accusingly at Ross, tears stinging her waterline. How much simpler it would have been if he’d come to her and stopped her, given himself to her and she would have taken it greedily no matter what anyone had said. Didn’t he realise the extent of her desire for him? How she would have let the whole world go to hell just to be with him?  
“Why did you not come?! Why did you not come for me, Ross?! Why did you subject me to such a living hell?! For that is what my life is without you, what it has always been without you, do you not know that? Do you not feel it? Why did you not come?!”  
She reached forward and began to beat at his chest and arms angrily between words, her fists landing softly against the warm fabric of his shirt while tears streamed down her face, every few words punctuated by a childish, searing sob as her petulance filled the air. Ross took her arms and held them down easily, her delicate wrists enveloped by his strong hands. She hung her head dejectedly, hiccupping a little after her performance. Ross wasn’t shocked or even remotely surprised.  
“I felt it. I felt every second away from you like a knife cutting a fresh slice into my skin. You say you find yourself in hell and I find myself in Purgatory, taunted by thoughts of you and the knowledge that thoughts are all I have. The constant torture is too much to bear but it stops now. For now, I am here. And you are here. And everything is fixed.”  
Elizabeth paused, blinking through the tears that obscured her vision and looked up from the intricate embroidery of her coverlet. The same soft smile played across his face, his words simple and easy like the music of her beloved harp to her ears. His eyes seemed out of focus, not quite looking at her or perhaps looking past her, through her. She tilted her head to the side to observe him as the last of her tears spilled out and down her cheeks, onto the white of her night gown. The air smelled a little staler now as the illusion began to shatter. The Ross that had come back from war, who spoke to her in riddles and said one thing when he meant another, he would never open up the chest of his feelings for her to peruse so freely.   
“Everything is fixed, Elizabeth. Sleep now.”  
His voice was barely a murmur as he adjusted the covers over her. Her body felt limp and she was suddenly aware of how much her head hurt again, something she’d perhaps forgotten during their conversation. The warmth emanating from the fire began to slip under the blankets, make her feel humid and clogged as if her gown was sticking to her. The safety, the security, the pure joy and happiness she’d felt at seeing Ross began to drip away slowly like a glass of water tipped over a table. His voice was warm and gentle as always and he was oddly still in front of her. The room began to swim in a misty haze and she was vaguely aware that nothing was real anymore. She’d evidently lost possession of her senses and the weakness in her limbs intensified.  
She was too weak to think properly now and instead gave in to the delusion. Even if it was only temporary, it was perhaps the only time she would be able to feel something this real. It wasn’t real and she couldn’t judge when it would vanish into thin air but while it was present, tangible, she would take it. Ross seemed to read her mind and opened his arms slowly, the same soft smile across his face. She pushed the covers off her and crawled the short distance, slumping in his open arms, against his chest. He felt real enough, the hairs of his chest rough but soft against her cheek, the sound of his heart beating steady and slow, his arms tight around her like something that reminded her of comfort and home. Not Trenwith, not her parent’s house, but the home she had made for herself in these very arms so many years ago.   
He began to rock her slowly as she rested her weight against his chest and she felt like a child being soothed to sleep. She reached out her arms needily to wrap around one of his, using her fingers to play with the soft fabric of his shirt. He rested his head on top of hers and she felt the gentle weight of it. His voice was pleasantly monotonous and low, rumbling somewhere inside his chest so deep she could feel it against her skin.  
“You and I shall live here at Trenwith, like we should have. Erase those years we spent apart, think not of them anymore. For everything is new and fresh and fixed.”  
“No….” she whispered, so quiet that only she could hear herself, “nothing is fixed, Ross. Nothing is fixed until you come.”  
There was no response, but the rocking continued and she was almost lulled back into a comfortable sleep. She forced her eyes open, willing this to last for as long as possible. She was too warm, too comfortable for this to stop now, however delusional it was.  
“Will you come, Ross?” she asked quietly, lifting her head to look at him.   
He took her face in his hands, smiling and carefully brushing at her flushed cheeks with his callused thumbs. She searched his face, looking for an answer in the sparkling hazel of his eyes. They said nothing but his voice washed over her like a cool wave. She swallowed his words, letting them reassure her falsely.  
“Of course I will. I shall come, Elizabeth. I shall always come for you. Now come, sleep for me.”  
He helped her back into bed carefully and Elizabeth didn’t protest, lying down and letting him drape the covers over her softly. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and took her hand where it lay over the covers, playing with her fingers as she resisted the urge to close her eyes. She watched him from under her lashes, sitting and looking at her with golden eyes and a softer face. He had become the Ross of her youth, dark curls tossed everywhere, a look of wildness and darkness in his eyes that always reminded her of the depths of the stormy sea as it crashed against the rocks.   
“Will you come, Ross? I shall wait for you until you do,” she murmured, her lips barely moving as her eyes began to close, “I shall wait for you at the gates. Will you come, Ross?”  
“I will, my love. I will always come for you. Just not at the right time.”  
Her eyes closed finally as she succumbed to the heavy fog of sleep, fresh hot tears seeping out to stain the pillow under her cheek at his words.


End file.
